


Clone, Clone of My Own

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Clones, Humor, M/M, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-02
Updated: 2007-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Schuldig knows the world needs more of him.





	Clone, Clone of My Own

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/profile)[louiselux](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing!

Schuldig walked round the delivery again. And again. The view from behind was just as good as that from in front. He peered at it close up. _Lovely_ skin. He sniffed it appreciatively. Someone had thought of all the details. He might even start using that cologne himself.

"Very nice," he said, lifting a strand of bright orange hair and letting it trail through his fingers. "God, I'm gorgeous. How do we turn it on?"

"It's not a machine, Schuldig," Crawford said, not lifting his eyes from the documentation Masafumi had included. "It's a person. More or less."

"Definitely more, I'd say," Schuldig purred, cupping his hand over his doppelganger's groin. "Hey, Farfarello, is this fornication or just self-abuse?"

"An interesting point," Farfarello said. "You'd have to do more than just feel it up to count as fornication, though. At the moment it might just count as necrophiliac masturbation."

"For fuck's sake," Nagi muttered, closing his laptop. "Don't encourage him."

Crawford leant in, whispering something into the motionless figure's ear and snapping his fingers before its nose. It blinked in confusion, looked down slowly at Schuldig's hand and up more quickly at Schuldig's predatory grin and jumped back in horror, displaying that it did indeed possess Schuldig's reflexes. It hit the wall hard and whimpered, as if it had woken up in a den of amoral, sexually voracious assassins and didn't much like what it saw.

Schuldig bounced towards it, glee in his eyes.

 

*

 

Having a clone, Schuldig thought, was the coolest thing ever. He got days off. He got the world's best alibi. He got to try out new hairstyles before inflicting them on himself. (What _had_ he been thinking when he bought the styling tongs? He was _so_ over his Farrah Fawcett phase). It was a real delight to be able to go and destroy someone's mind and life, knowing all the while that he and the rest of Takatori's flashy gaijin bodyguards were being caught on camera miles away. It was even more of a delight to curl up under the duvet and know someone else had to listen to Takatori's stupidity. It was kind of fun to have dinner served by his exact double, and it was even more fun to pull the clone into bed and revel in some really first-class narcissism. Damn, he was flexible. Nagi and Farfarello were jealous, he knew. Crawford would have to buy them their own clones soon. The days flew by: assassinations in Russia and Korea, shopping trips squeezed in around espionage in Singapore, season-long marathons of _The X-Files_. It took him weeks to figure out he'd hardly seen the rest of Schwarz for more than five minutes at a time.

"Tickets," Crawford said, when Schuldig had decided to announce he felt like going to work today. "Passport. Details on your target." He handed over documents in Cyrillic that claimed Schuldig was some sort of technical specialist. Schuldig didn't bother reading enough to discover what sort, it wasn't like he'd actually need to change tyres or plutonium rods.

"Don't you need me with Takatori?" he said.

"Don't worry," Crawford smirked. "We have Frank."

"First, I told you "Frank"'s a stupid name, and second, he's not telepathic," Schuldig said.

"Relax, I make sure he's unavoidably unavailable if Takatori will want someone's mind read - if that doesn't work, he just lies. He's got your aptitude for lying," Crawford said, straightening Schuldig's collar. "What's the matter? You're only going to Vladivostok, you'll be back soon enough."

"When I'm back we're going to spend some time together," Schuldig said, oozing into an embrace. "You work too hard."

"When you come back," Crawford agreed, and slipped free.

 

*

 

Vladivostok was as exciting as ever. Schuldig wondered how anyone managed to stay awake in the place. Secrets extracted and his target dead, he gratefully flew back to Tokyo and woke the next morning in a good mood. Crawford had an evening off scheduled. He really _did_ work too hard, Schuldig thought. He'd cancelled the last three free evenings to accommodate some whim of Takatori's, and deserved the chance to accommodate Schuldig's whims instead.

He was in a far fouler mood by dinnertime. He flung his phone petulantly onto his bed, wondering if he should pretend not to have received the text message. Why did Crawford have to be such a bloody workaholic? He decided he'd take his mood out on Nagi.

"I have no idea what Takatori wanted," Nagi said curtly. "Move, I can't see the screen."

Schuldig stayed put, ignoring the fact that Nagi was clearly still playing his computer game, even if he couldn't see what he was doing. "He's not getting any perks for all this toadying. Why should he put up with that fat moron's wishes?"

"Maybe he thinks sucking up to the future Prime Minister is good for those of us who actually show up to work. Or maybe he's having an affair with Takatori," Nagi said meanly.

"You just missed stepping on this level's BFG," Schuldig said, flicking a look at the screen. "And your guy's surrounded by monsters -- hey!" He found himself sliding out of Nagi's line of sight and the sound of automatic gunfire rang from the speakers.  
  
"Ask Farfarello," Nagi said, an actual expression flickering briefly on his face as he surveyed the satisfying pixillated carnage he was inflicting.

Schuldig left. It was no good pressing Nagi for information when he was killing things, even virtual things.

Farfarello wasn't much better.

"I'm only after getting in," he said. "Can you not let me be till I've had a cup of tea?"

"That's not tea," Schuldig said.

Farfarello shrugged. "I'm planning on drinking blood in front of the next few priests. It should be good for a laugh." He looked ruminatively into his cup. "Tastes like shit, though. That's why I need to practice."

"Crawford," Schuldig insisted. "As in, where is he? And where the hell's the clone?"

"He said he'd keep Frank with him, Takatori thinks he has the pair of you doing overtime," Fararello said, stirring in an experimental spoonful of Sweet'n'Low.

"Don't call him 'Frank'," Schuldig said.

"You want him called 'Schuldig, Mark II'?" Farfarello said. "How about, 'Schuldig, Jr.'? Or 'The New Improved Schuldig'?"

"New and improved," Schuldig scoffed. "You're just jealous you don't have a clone of _you_ to play with. Masafumi mustn't be able to make anything that stupid."

Farfarello looked at him, then sipped his cup of sweetened blood delicately. "Crawford thinks Frank's new and improved," he said silkily. "Crap, this really does taste like shit."

Schuldig looked at him. He was thinking awfully loudly, in a 'read my mind if you dare' sort of way. It was enough to make a wiser telepath apprehensive. Schuldig, however --

"What do you mean, he's having an affair with Frank?" he shrieked, grabbing Farfarello and shaking him violently.

Farfarello grinned. "He said something about appreciating someone who couldn't talk with their mouth full," he sniggered. "All those times he was working late at the office - how dim _are_ you, Schuldig?"

Schuldig dropped him and ran.

 

*

 

Schuldig supposed there were many possible reactions to discovering someone who was supposed to take him out to dinner feeding asparagus spears to someone else instead. On seeing Crawford's expression as the clone licked the butter from his fingers, he decided to go with, "You bastard!"

"Hello, Schuldig," Crawford sighed.

The clone wiped its mouth daintily. "Hi," it said.

"Shut up, you, you blow-up doll," Schuldig snarled, and turned back to Crawford. "And _you_! What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"I'm having dinner," Crawford said mildly.

"You're having _my_ dinner! With Plastic Pete here! You're cheating on me with me!"

"Don't be stupid, Schuldig," Crawford snapped. "I'm cheating on you with a genetic _copy_ of you. Get your facts straight. And sit down, you're attracting too much attention." He looked Schuldig up and down professionally, as if he were measuring him for a coffin. "Behave yourself and maybe I'll do both of you."

Schuldig felt mollified for perhaps half a second. Then,

"Do we _have_ to? He hasn't even brushed his _hair_ ," his clone sighed in exactly the tone Schuldig used when he wanted to be just the right low grade irritation that would get Crawford to do what he wanted rather than listen to more whinging.

Schuldig pulled out his gun and shot his clone in the face. He was vaguely impressed that the clone jumped out of the way just in time. No wonder people looked confused and awed when he'd had too much coffee, he thought, aiming more carefully. The clone ran off, leaping through a window as Schuldig's bullets thudded into the wall and window-frame.

"Sit _down_ ," Crawford snapped.

Schuldig sat. He didn't know why Crawford had even picked this restaurant, he thought sulkily, all the screaming made it difficult to carry on a civilised conversation. "How _could_ you?" he said.

Crawford shrugged. "He didn't talk all the time. And it was quite an ego-boost to be able to surprise him in bed."

"I don't talk all the time," Schuldig said, squashing down the memory of the exact circumstances under which he'd last asked for a raise. "I'll have to shoot him when he comes home, you know."

"He'll be out of the country within the next two hours," Crawford said. "He may not be telepathic but he's not as dim-witted as you look."

"Hey!"

"You can continue sulking, or you can start erasing people's memories," Crawford said. "I'm willing to forgive you."

"You're the one who had the affair," Schuldig said.

Crawford leant forward, his face kind and loving as he stroked Schuldig's cheek. "I couldn't help myself, Baby," he said. "Not when he had your beautiful face."

"You are condescending and transparently manipulative," Schuldig said.

"Is it working?" Crawford said. "Frank ordered your favourite dessert --"

"What the hell," Schuldig muttered and got down to the business of making the diners and staff think they'd witnessed a TV show being filmed.

All in all, he decided the next day, it had been one of their better dates. And it felt strangely good to get back to his own dishonest day's work.


End file.
